The bird-spies sent out by Pana-ewa brought back contradictory reports. The first pair reported that Hiiaka was being worsted. Soon after another pair, garbling the facts, said “Our people are lying down, but they are still alert and keep their eyes open. As for Hiiaka, she has fallen into a deep sleep.”

The situation was far from satisfactory and Pana-ewa despatched another pair of birds to reconnoitre and report. It was not yet morning and the night was dark; and they accordingly took the form of kukui1 trees, thinking thus to illuminate the scene of operations. The intelligence they brought was confounding: “Our people,” they said, “are all dead, save those who have the form of kukui trees. Hiiaka lies quietly sleeping in the road.”

This account, though strictly in accord with the facts, was so disconcerting to Pana-ewa that he burst forth in a rage, “Slaves, liars! you’re deceiving me. I’ll wring your necks!” and he reached out to execute his threat. The birds eluded him and found safety in flight.

Pana-ewa now saw that it was necessary to take the field in person at the head of his regular forces, composed of the NamÚ and NawÁ. The disguise he chose for himself was that of an ohia-lehua tree. No sooner had he taken that form than he found himself unable to move hand or foot. A parasitic network of i-e-i-e embraced his body and a multitude of aËrial roots anchored him to the spot. It was the craft of the sleeping girl that had done this. He had to content himself with the unwarlike guise of the kukui tree.

While Hiiaka slept, her faithful servitor PaÚ-o-pala’e kept open eye and detective ear to what was going on in the star-lit forest about them. At the first glimmering of dawn her keen sense felt rather than heard a murmurous rustle that broke the stillness and a movement, as if the forest itself were advancing and closing in upon them. This oncoming of the enemy was in such contrast to the onset of the yelping pack on the previous day as to be most impressive. The sound that touched her keen sense was not the joyous twitter and stir of nature preparing to greet a new day; it was rather the distant mutter of the storm, soon to be heard as the growl of the tempest, or the roar and snarl of an enraged menagerie of wild beasts.

The woman felt her responsibility and, with the double intent of summoning to their aid the friendly gods and of waking Hiiaka, she lifted a solemn prayer:

TRANSLATION

The sisters, uncles, aunts and other kindred of Hiiaka heard this prayer of PaÚ-o-pala’e distinctly enough, and so did Pele; and when they saw that she appeared indifferent and made no move, they muttered among themselves. Then Ku-ili-kaua, a man of war and a leader in battle, spoke up and, addressing Ka-moho-alii, said “Why is it that she does not send warriors to the assistance of her sister? The girl has fought most bravely all day and is worn out; and there she lies fast asleep.”

Ka-moho-alii thereupon bade Kilioe-i-ka-pua and Olu-wale-i-malo, two handsome lads who were very dear to Pele (mau keiki punahele a Pele)—her sons in fact—to go in to Pele and ask her sanction to their going to the aid of Hiiaka.

When these two boys came into Pele’s presence they found her poking the fire with a stick (hoelo kapuahi). With a fine show of confidence, they at once went and seated themselves in Pele’s lap, one on her right thigh and one on her left. Pele’s looks softened as she contemplated them, tears gathered in her eyes and she said, “What is the thought in the heart? Speak.” (Heaha ka hua i ka umauma? Ha’i’na.)

“Your commands.” (O ka leo,38 literally, the voice.)

At this Pele stood up and, leaving her own home-hearth, went over and took her station in the fire-pit of Hale-ma’u-ma’u. Then, pointing to the east, she said:

It was such a voice of utterance as this (leo) that the two boys who went in before Pele desired. These two messenger-boys, by the way, are, in another account, spoken of as birds.

The purpose of Kane in sending out this leo seems to have been to rouse into activity the earth-strata, na papa honua.

TRANSLATION

At this the gods of war sprang into array, as if unleashed by the words of Pele. At their head marched Ku-lili-ai-kaua, a veteran who had followed Pele in her voyage from Kahiki. With him, went Ke-ka-ko’i, a guide (hookele) well acquainted with the forest trails. In the van strode three weird figures (Ka-maiau, Ka-hinihini and MÁpu) bearing conchs, to which they ever and anon applied their lips and sent forth resounding blasts. But even more thrilling and inspiring than the horns of Triton was the voice of these gods of war as they chanted their war-song:

Mele Ka’i Kaua

TRANSLATION

Thus chanting their battle-mele (mele ka’i kaua), these gods of an old-time mythology marched, or flew, with resolute purpose to their task of rescuing Hiiaka and her little band and of ridding the land, at one and the same stroke, of their old entrenched foe, Pana-ewa. Heaven and earth stirred at their onset. The visible signs of their array were manifest in columns of seething fire-shot clouds that hovered like vultures over the advancing army. Arrived at striking distance, they let loose their lightning-bolts and sounded their thunder-gongs. Earth and heaven at once became turmoiled in one confused whirl of warring elements.

The warriors of Pana-ewa, who—in imitation of their chief—had for the most part taken the guise of trees and other natural objects, found themselves from the first fettered and embarrassed by a tangle of parasitic vines, so that their thrusts against Hiiaka were of little avail. Now comes the onset of the Pele gods in the tempest-forms of hurricane, lightning, hail, and watery cloud-bursts that opened heaven’s flood-gates. Against these elemental forces the dryad-forms of Pana-ewa’s host could not stand for a moment. Their tree-shapes were riven and torn limb from limb, engulfed in a swirling tide that swept them down to the ocean and far out to sea.

Two staunch fighters remained, Kiha, who had chosen to retain the honest dragon-form; and Pua’a-loa, a creature, like Kama-pua’a, in the demi-shape of a boar, whom Pana-ewa, at the scent of disaster, had thrust into the confinement of a secret cave. This manner of retreat saved the twain from the immediate disaster by flood but not from the vengeance of Pele’s army. Detected in their lairs, they were slain and their petrified bodies are pointed out to this day in verification of this story.

The fate of Pana-ewa himself was most tragical. He no sooner had taken the form of a kukui tree than he found himself overlaid and entangled with meshes of parasitic growth; he could neither fight nor fly. The spot on which he stood sank and became a swamp, a lake, a sink; the foundations on which its bottom rested were broken up and fell away. Pana-ewa, swallowed up in the gulf, was swept out to sea and perished in the waves. Kane-lu-honua had broken up the underlying strata and made of the place a bottomless sink.

(A reef is pointed out in the ocean opposite Papa’i which is the remains of the body of the mo’o Pana-ewa.)

The part taken by Hiiaka in this last act of her deliverance was hardly more than that of a spectator. She had but to look on and witness the accomplishment of her own salvation. Having been roused from the refreshment of sleep by the long-drawn recitative of PaÚ-o-pala’e’s prayer-mele (see pp. 37–40), she did her best to cheer her two companions with assurances of coming deliverance and, gathering her little brood about her, after the manner of a mother-hen, figuratively, bade them cling to her, nestle under her wings, lest they should be swept away in the flood of waters that soon began to surge about them—a flood which carried far out to sea the debris of battle—as already described.

The victory for Hiiaka was complete. Hawaii for once, and for all time, was rid of that pestilential, man-eating, mo’o band headed by Pana-ewa who, from the time of Pele’s coming, had remained entrenched in the beautiful forest-land that still bears the name—Pana-ewa.